


Who learns wins

by Rammy



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-18 19:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rammy/pseuds/Rammy
Summary: Prowl is an expert in many things but total rookie while trying catch someone's eye. So he need a consultant.





	Who learns wins

**Author's Note:**

> All this was inspired by ldnaiuke and become real thanks to my beta-reader anon-e-miss.

Prowl watched the couple enter the mess hall and imperceptibly vented a sigh. Skyfire talked briskly about something to Perceptor, and in their scientific dispute the scientists seemed oblivious to anything around them. On the one hand, it's a little annoying, and on the other hand, the tactician had the opportunity to watch him surrepticiously. Skyfire had most recently fallen in with the Autobots like snowflakes on the head (in fact, this was almost the way it was), but he had already integrated quiet well into the team. The big transformer had a calm disposition, a keen mind, and also sense of humor hidden deep inside, something Prowl had discovered in one of the few conversations he had had with a handsome jet. The tactician frowned at this definition, but the fact remained that Prowl appreciated not only the sharp mind of the scientist, but also his aesthetics - Skyfire certainly had nothing to be ashamed of.

All would be well, but it seems the jet was clearly not aware of effect he produced on the tactician, and Prowl had no idea how to fix the situation. Once, he had tried to flirt, but it had not work out - Jazz, it had seemed, had not even understood what kind of idea Prowl had been trying to bring up. Or saboteur perhaps simply wasn't interested in Prowl, which was much more likely. That time the tactician had been able to reconcile himself to the fact that he would never be a part of a couple (an equal?) with this amazing transformer. But to give up the second time?

No, Prowl was not ready to accept this. So, he had to act.

Searches in the archive had not given any spectacular result - in the end these were the archives of the army, and not a self-help guide for those who do not know how to go on dates. Of course he could ask for advice... Prowl sighed wearily. He did not even know who he could turn to with such a delicate request - they would just raze him for laughs. Is that Jazz... Although no, this was also not an option.

The doorwings of the tactician trembled, catching the movement of air from the passing mecha. He turned and his optics flickered. Mirage. The tactician had never closely communicated with him, but of course he had studied his personal file. The former aristocrat held himself somewhat apart, did not suffer from talkativeness, and most importantly came from those circles where trailing behind someone was considered as a good form. Perhaps, of all the possible options, Mirage was the most suitable mecha for the role of consultant. Once again, having carefully weighed everything, the tactician nodded and threw off an invitation to a meeting at his office on the spy's comm.

At the appointed time, the door to Prowl's office opened and Mirage swam in with his aristocratic gait.

\- You wanted to see me?

\- Yes. - Prowl cleared his throat. This entire undertaking seemed to have turned him impossibly stupid. - Sit down.

Mirage comfortably settled himself in an armchair and in anticipation of an explanation directed optics to Prowl. Wow, his armor and optics were the same color... The tactician shook his head, driving away an uninvited thought.

\- I have an assignment for which, I believe, you are ideally suited. Or rather, not an assignment, but a request.  
Mirage bow his his head slightly to the side. This ... was not exactly what he expected to hear when he came to Prowl's office. And, if his optics did not fail him, then the tactician is nervous. And yet...

\- I'm listening.

The ensuing hitch in a couple of seconds for any other mecha would almost unnoticeable, but for Prowl it was analogous to deafening silence. The Spy raised his eyebrows in surprise. What had happened to commander? It seemed that Prowl himself understood that the pause was somewhat prolonged. He confusedly coughed and finally gathered up his spirit, and the tactician finally outlined the essence of the matter.

\- I need advice in one very delicate matter. One mecha... I would like to show my interest in relationship with him, but I'm not sure that I can properly express ... my feelings and draw his attention.

The longer Mirage listened to this monologue, the more his face stretched.  
\- In other words, you want to learn how to go on dates and flirt? From me?

\- It's... a pretty good description. - surrendered the tactician.

The spy's first desire was to laugh, but Mirage successfully suppressed this impulse, looking at Prowl, who clearly was uncomfortable too.

\- So...- Mirage rubbed the bridge of his nose. - I could of course... But all the same it is better to you to address to Jazz.

\- No. - Prowl hastily answered. - Jazz would not suit, even with all due respect to his experience.  
If the spy was surprised by this reaction, he did not show it. Primus only knew what had happened between the tactician and the saboteur, but Mirage did not want to know the details. And in general, he now has another concern.

\- So... - the former aristocrat thought a little -First of all you need to study the object of your interest. Of course, any means of study are good, but it would be preferable to do this in a conversation. When you understand what exactly excites the object of your affection, let him tell you about what he likes, not forgetting of course to ask clarifying questions as needed - so you show the mech what you listen to and what of his hobbies are similar to your. What does your ... intended like?

Tactician lightly fluttered his doorwing but the meaning of this gesture was lost on Mirage.

\- We... have not talked so much so that I have drawn some definite conclusions.

\- But you have talked about something, right? - Mirage bowed his head to the side. - Racing, picking up 3D puzzles, theater?

The tactician paused in thought, with one hand aligning the stack of data-pads on the table - a habit that Mirage did not notice before.

\- Perhaps, a joint viewing of the theatrical piece would be a good option. There are many interesting pieces on the Earth. Shakespeare for example...

The spy tore his optics from the pile of data-pads and looked at Prowl as if he was seeing him for the first time. Theater had only gotten into the list of topics for conversation by accident, Mirage had not expected the tactician would know anything about the it, so this answer became a complete surprise.

\- Do you... know Shakespeare?

Judging by the way his doorwings trembled, Prowl must have realized that he had said too much. But there was nowhere to go and the tactician continued.

\- I find theatrical performances extremely entertaining. Much more natural and sincere than holo-movies. Of course, acting on the Earth is very different from the Cybertronian Theater, but I do not deny myself the pleasure of attending performances under the open sky.

\- Who would have thought ...- Mirage leaned forward.

Really, who would have thought. Theater was one of those things that spy missed the most so far from home. Once on Cybertron he had not missed a single premiere and had regularly visited theater, not just because it was considered a good ton in high societ, but because he really had enjoyed it. But then everything had been razed in the war, leaving no stone unscarred, from the glorified halls and the actors' troupes. Of course, humans, as it turned out did not disdain from theatrical art, but among the Autobots there did not appear to be anybody who seemed be at least a bit interested, so the former aristocrat had neither a companion with which to see a show, nor anyone with whom he could later discuss what he had seen. Until then. Eternally direct, as if a stake was scored in him, dry as the mathematics itself the tactician had suddenly turned out to be an excellent connoisseur of not only Earth, but also cybertronian dramaturgy. Prowl enthusiastically began to discuss one of the plays of the golden age and his speech literally blossomed with colorful epithets that were completely wildly combined with an explicit analysis of the actions of the heroes with the help of a tactical computer, but Mirage suddenly realized that he liked this peculiar style of the Autobot’s priniple tactician.

The conversation was so fascinating that both transformers completely lost all track of time, and only remembered the need to refuel and rest in middle of the recharge cycle. Prowl apologized for having taken so much of Mirage's personal time. Mirage replied that it had been no problem for him, and specified the date of the next session, after which he moved to the stealth regime and slipped out of the tactical wing. In general, he had nothing to be ashamed of, but spy did not really want Red Alert to notice him and he began to consider... everything he had learned. He had no desire to reflect on the details of this "everything". He had a purely business relationship with Prowl. Still, it was amazing that Mirage had really enjoyed his evening, something he had not done for a long time. In this team of transformers there just was not someone, who shared some many of his interests. And here Prowl... Primus' path was really inscrutable. However, musing over the sense of humor of Primus would be saved for tomorrow, for now – recharge.

With the next lesson came more complications. The atmosphere of the military base did not lean itself to romance (except for casual interface to relieve stress). On the other hand, Prowl after all had a private compartment, and there were parties, periodically rolled out by Jazz, which clearly helped romantic matters... in general. Having considered the problem and deciding that dancing was no worse than other romantic activities, Mirage at the appointed time appeared in the office.

\- Dancing? Are you sure? - The tactician to whom Mirage voiced the theme of the lesson, raised doorwing incredulously.

Spy who already had time to decide that the idea was not likely to be the most successful, nevertheless began to defend it.

\- Of course it's hard to call one of Jazz's parties a reception in honor of Prime and a recroom is not a ballroom, but dancing is a great way to get a feel for a partner and... Have you ever danced with a partner?

Prowl somehow vaguely led the doorwings and Mirage sighed - everything is clear…

\- Well, let's start with the basics. Stand in front of me.

And the lesson began. To the surprise of the former aristocrat, the tactician quickly mastered the basic movements - apparently, the super-power processor in his head was suited not only for planning. The nightmare began when Mirage turned on the music and tried to tie the theory into an old cybertronian waltz. Maybe Prowl was a genius but he did not really have a spark to dance. Mirage was already beginning to limp on both trampled feet.  
\- All, break! - spy literally fell into the nearest chair. In his foot something creaked unpleasantly. In the next armchair Prowl fell wearily. His expression was impassive, but the pose expressed a fair amount of desperation.

\- You ... You should not try to lead, okay? You need to follow the lead partner, so we will always stay on the same trajectory and it will be much easier.  
\- Trajectory? - asked the tactician and his optics decayed, as it used to be during heavy fighting. And then they flared up again. - We should try again.

Mirage barely suppressed a groan. But there was nowhere to go. The spy included the following composition and stood in the starting position. He was ready for another run on his legs, but,.. one step, the second, and Prowl with only a barely noticeable delay followed Mirage, practically mirroring his movements. The tactician was clearly not relaxed during the dance - though, did he actually know how to relax? - but now it really was like a dance, not the stupid insecticon tokens in the nest. So somehow Prowl did know how to dance? So why the slag had he spent so much time wrenching spy's processor, and his peds? They made a few more circles in the office and, when the music finally died down, they completed the dance with a classic bow.

\- You could have just sat that to dance you just need familiar music. - Mirage straightened up. His voice showing obvious displeasure. - I would had immediately started with this song. I would not had to... waste time.

\- I do not know this song. However, a familiar composition would not improve my abilities to dance. - the tactician seemed surprised as if he did not quite understand what it the trouble was all about.

\- I beg you pardon? - the former aristocrat could not suppress arrogance in his voice. - Then what was that just now?

\- I wrote an algorithm of actions based on the basic movements that you showed me, and just used it taking into account the acoustic characteristics of the composition you proposed. - Prowl responded in such a casual way as if explaining something oh so obvious. - The algorithm helped me to calculate the trajectory of our movement and reduce the likelihood of stepping on your foot.

Somewhere in the middle of this monologue, Mirage's jaw dropped. No, he knew, everyone knew that the principle tactician had a powerful, high-speed processor, but then it turned out in that tiny break, Prowl had managed to analyze, and then write an algorithm, and then to apply it for an unfamiliar melody right in the process of dancing. Slag, but it's just incredible!

\- Aah ... yes, I had heard something about simultaneous tracing the traejectory of 700 objects. Or there were 800 of them ... - muttered the spy. Then he coughed, trying to regain his composure. It's one thing to hear that Prowl is good, but it's completely different - to watch how he works in seconds doing what other mechs will do for hours or days. And only now Mirage suddenly realized - the Autobots are lucky that this warrior is fighting on their side…

But the war is a war, right now they were dancing.

\- Impressive. The technique was on top by many standards, but your dance lacks spark. After all, dance is also an act of communication. Let's try to correct something…

They danced to the same music again, so that Prowl remembered the dance and wasn't distracted by work of his sophisticated algorithm. And Mirage began to teach the tactician how to properly conduct a conversation during the dance.

Initially, casual conversation did not work, but Mirage had lived long enough in high circles and knew how to talk even such an unsociable partner. It was worthwhile for the spy to mention the theater performance that premiered several days earlier and Prowl became more animated and  
so their conversation turned round on the theatrical theme beloved by both mechs.

Giving him his due, on the whole, the tactician was managing quite well. His dance algorithm worked, helping even when Mirage changed the direction of the movement in a most mean manner, and given a good subject of conversation, the tactician became a rather pleasant companion. But it would still not be enough if he was aimed for someone's spark.

\- By the way, there's something else you need to know about dancing." - emerging from the discussion of the vocal part of the main character, the spy returned to the topic of the lesson. - Dancing is a great occasion to pay your the partner compliments. Everyone learns love by audio sensors, so speak. But compliments you pay should emphasize the merits of mech and not be mere banal flattery, just a little embellishment of what he really has. The tactician who listened attentively nodded, and Mirage snorted - well, he clearly did not understand the slag. Mirage was going to have to give him a demonstration…

The former aristocrat leaned towards Prowl, and showering him with hot air whispered directly into the audio. - You're moving lovely. Beautiful and sensual. I have not had such a partner for a long time… The field of the Autobots commander became strangely odd and Prowl lost his rhythm almost stepping on Mirage but from the next step he again went into tact.- Come on. Say something. - the spy gracefully bowed his head.

If it was not for the continuing dance, it might well have seemed that the tactician was locked - his expression was too confusing. But Prowl still opened his mouth and stuttered.  
\- You ... you are very elegant at disappearing."  
It was the most ridiculous compliment he had been paid in his life. Mirage at once could not even decide how to react, and then all the same started to laugh. "Gracefully disappears". He would have to tell to Jazz. And just after finishing laughing Mirage realized that they had stopped.

\- It's quite late and I have an early meeting. - the tactician said quietly. - Do you mind if we finish for today?

The aristocrat checked the chrono and was surprised to realize that the time was indeed quite late. Of course, they could dance a little more, but if there was a meeting... Saying goodbye, Mirage slipped out of the tactician's room and in the most pleasant mood returned to his own room, where he fell with distinct pleasure on his berth with the intention of having a proper rest.  
But some kind of trifle, some thought did not allow him to go into recharge, until the spy realized that Prowl had not set a date for the next lesson, and he had not even spoken about it. And this lesson had ended somehow strangely. Everything had gone fine. Mirage frankly rejoiced that he had found a partner for the classical cybertronian waltz, and then the tactician had delicately put him out and this "early meeting" felt more and more like an excuse. What insecticon had bitten Prowl? Everything had been fine until... Mirage had complimented him.  
The spy shook his head and sat down on his berth. And what was it about this? He had simply taught the tactician to communicate in a decent society. So he said paid a compliment for the sake of the an exmple. No, it was not so... he said a compliment TO HIM. He could just have given a couple of examples, but the spy had chosen one that had worked flawlessly on the high-society Iacon femmes. And what had he wanted to achieve by this trick?

Anyway the effect had turned out to be exactly the opposite of what he would have wanted - it seemed Prowl was offended. Or not offended, but who the slag did you figure out what is happening in that processor... The expression of the face of the black and white transformer standing stiffly in front of hod optics and Mirage could not understand what it was all about. Surprise? Confusion? Some kind of complex mixture, which in one word could not be described.  
The spy laid down on the berth, but considerably worse spirits. It was already late, but tomorrow he would have to somehow apologize to Prowl. It was silly to apologize for the compliment, but Mirage did not like the prospect of just stopping their communication. Previously, he would not care, but now... Perhaps this is just a concern for his “student”... Exactly.

Catching Prowl the next day proved not so easy. Mirage had always been proud of his unique ability to become invisible, but then he even crept, he had a seditious idea that the tactician some how had similar powers. Or he could teleport from the place where he just was to somewhere far away. In the end, the patience of the invisible-mech collapsed and he called Prowl to clarify the time of the next lesson, where they will cover the MOST IMPORTANT THEME. After a pause, Prowl still agreed to meet with the spy after the shift.

At the appointed time Mirage materialized at the door of Prowl's compartment with a small box in his hands. The door to the compartment was flung open at once - the owner was obviously waiting for him. Overcoming the sudden wave of shyness, the former aristocrat came in, shutting the door behind him. Prowl sat on the couch and seemed perfectly calm, outwardly, not a trace of yesterday's emotions. Mirage even thought at first that he had imagined all this but in time remembered that this was the Autobot tactician who can be refuel and negotiate with Megatron with one expression. It was amazing that yesterday he even managed to stir up Prowl… The tactician finally remembered the manners and invited the guest to sit down. Mirage naturally parked on the couch closer to Prowl, which made him barely noticeably tense.

\- So, the topic of the class is gifts. - Mirage began the lecture.

The spy approached the subject with all seriousness. He talked about the symbolism of gifts, what to give was considered a good ton, but what exactly to give was definitely not worth it. At the same time, he glanced sideways at Prowl, noting how the black-and-white doorwings slid a little. The tactician relaxed. Good. At least somebody was getting pleasure from these lectures.

\- And of course the gift helps express the attitude of the donor to the recipient. By the way ... - Mirage took from the arm of the sofa a box with which he came, and handed it to the tactician. - This is for you.

\- What is it? - almost for the first time in the evening the Praxian voiced something, examining the box as if he thought that a sharticon was going to jump out of it.

\- A gift. - explained Mirage the obvious. - I know I upset you yesterday. I'm not sure why but I'd like to make amends. Open it.

\- I'm not upset.

But Prowl still took the box, and gingerly peered inside and his optics rounded - inside lay a pale purple crystal about a half of his palm length. How did Mirage know? The tactician quickly looked back, to the rack where under the s cap stood his tiny crystal greenhouse. The spy had never even been in his compartment. Or had he? Of course, growing crystals is a well-known Praxian tradition and yet - from where?

\- As far as I know, this is a rare thing …

\- A singing crystal. - the tactician finished for Mirage.  
And then something happened that the spy had not expected at all. Prowl held the crystal closer to his face and sang. Of course, it was difficult to call the song, it was just a melody, but the crystal glowed lightly on the palm of his hand, vibrated and responded to it with it's own soft song, which seemed to resonate somewhere in the spark, creating in it a whole range of emotions. They did not beat over the edge, as happens at some concert, but sparkled with sparks, as if they themselves were crystal.

Mirage looked up at the tactician's face, highlighted by the colored flares, and held his breath for the second time - Prowl was smiling.

\- In the gardens of Helix there were whole alleys of crystals like this one, large ones, the height of a mech. And each of them sounded entirely unique. - the smile became sad. - They were the finest singing crystals on the whole Cybertron…

The echo of the melody made the last turn in a small compartment and died down completely. Only after this, Mirage decided to move.

Prowl seemed to remember that he was not alone and looked at the spy. The expression on his face was... Mirage did not know what words with which to describe it, but it was completely out of tune with the face of the tactician to which all were accustomed. Like a crack passed through a layer of invisible cold and at the same time very strong armor, usually hiding real Prowl. He obviously wanted to say something, but the spy was ahead of him.

\- That's what a properly selected gift means! - Mirage said, over-cheerfully. He clapped his hands and rose to his feet. - Here perhaps that is all you need to know to have a successful date! You should just... dare. Personally, I'm completely confident in your success…

The spy kept talking and without actually giving Prowl a chance to insert a word just fled. Mirage was only able to catch his breath in the familiar surroundings of his compartment.  
The former aristocrat sat on the berth and tiredly ran a hand over his face. What exactly had happened he could not understand. Did Prowl scare him? Had he been offended by something? No. These several cycles of training with the tactician have become, for Mirage, almost a revelation. For the crew Prowl always seemed like more of a kind of complex computing system, rather than a living mech, but the spy now realized that the tactician could do more than compute. All of them had somehow managed to miss an interesting, and in his own way, attractive transformer. And after Prowl actually relaxed and allowed this very transformer to look out - Mirage had liked what he saw. The spy leaned back against the platform and rubbed his face again. Was he, as Jazz said, sold on Prowl? Slag. He just... he just needs to think about all this.

Prowl again looked in the mirror, glancing critically at the polished armor. There was not a single speck, the polish was flawless, just as if it had come from the workshop. Mirage would have approved. Mirage... Prowl angrily pulled up the doorwings. In recent days, the mech had often floated up into his memory, interfering with both his work and in general, and now as it was necessary to think about how he will invite Skyfire to the performance. Ventilating deeply, Prowl took an envelope with tickets from the table and headed toward the living compartment of the scientist. His shift had already ended and the tactician hoped that the jet would not refuse to attend the next performance at the theater under the stars. Mirage would definitely like this play…

The Praxian felt his faceplate heat up. Again Mirage! Why did he always think about the former aristocrat? Yes, the spy had taught him a lot, yes, it had been really nice to spend time with him. He was handsome and, somehow even resembled the Praxian but that did not mean that Mirage... Prowl realized that he had already been standing for two minutes at the door of Skyfire’s compartment, and in that time he had rumbled the envelope, which was supposed to be a gift. Hastily he smoothed it and raised a hand to the device call, but the button never pressed. Why did he think that Mirage would not want to go to the theater with him? After all, Jazz had said many times, if you want to know - ask. And the spy's room was just a little further along the corridor. After a moment's hesitation and a decision was made. Swallowing, the tactician pressed the call button of the Mirage’s compartment. At first it seemed that the owner was not in the compartment, but in the end the door opened, Mirage looked out into the gap and his optics comically rounded.

\- P-prowl?

All his carefully prepared speech instantly flew out of his processor and Prowl very much wanted to fall through the floor at least a couple of levels down. Yes, all in all if he could fight Megatron and he could do this now! The tactician handed to the spy the long-suffering envelope.  
\- I wanted to invite you to a play. To the theatre. Will you go?

Mirage slowly took the envelope, peered into it. And he burst out laughing.

The black-and-white doorwings practically laid flat on the tactician's back. Prowl had certainly internally prepared for the refusal, but the fact that he would be laughed at he had not been ready for. It too much, he needed to turn around and leave, but he kept standing ramrod straight and watched how Mirage makes merry. Yes, this was an unsuccessful idea …

\- Forgive me, please forgive me. - the spy finally was able to calm down a bit. - Wait a second. - The former aristocrat disappeared in the depth of his compartment but almost immediately returned and handed an envelope to the tactician. - I prepared it for you, but I did not have time to deliver it. Look.

Prowl vented - but it would not be any worse anyway - opened the envelope and pulled out a couple of tickets for the same open-air theater performance.

 

Prowl is an expert in many things but total rookie while trying catch someone's eye. So he need a consultant.


End file.
